Leo opened the worn book again, his fingers tracing the gilded illustrations of the Dragons. According to the text, the Wandering King had chronicled more than just the location of his miracle cure; he had gathered a wealth of knowledge on his journey. The cure Leo sought was not just any medicine. It lay deep in dragon territory, where mana flowed so thick it shimmered in the very air. The Wandering King had journeyed for months, crossing the dominions of each Dragon Lord in turn. The Red Dragon, whose scales blazed like the desert sun, ruled over all creatures of fire and scale. In his domain, even the smallest lizards could breathe flame. The Blue Dragon, with his majestic fins and horns of polished coral, reigned over the ocean depths where every marine creature swore him fealty. The Green Dragon, wreathed in a living mantle of moss and vine, was lord of the deep forests, where beast and plant alike bent to his will. In the eternal skies, the White Dragon commanded all flying creatures, while the Black Dragon governed the beasts of night and shadow. The book held a particularly detailed drawing of the Articulated Dragon, whose lands teemed with giant insects and armored monstrosities. Each dragon, the book claimed, corresponded to an evolutionary line, an egg color. Scholars dismissed the link, pointing to too many hatchlings that defied the expected patterns. But such academic debates were irrelevant to the boy. Leo paused on a page that had always fascinated him: the Dragon of Decay, lord of fungi, spores, and all things that thrived on decomposition. It was said to reign supreme, feeding upon and creating all creatures of its lineage. "At least dragons respect their subjects," he murmured bitterly, his gaze falling on the pathetic spore hovering beside him. "Unlike humans." But the dragon territories were a world away from the human city, and for good reason. Humans had settled here for that very reason: the mana was so thin that great beasts found the land repulsive, unlivable. Scarcity was their only shield. Only the weakest creatures, cast out and rejected by the strong, ever prowled the plains near the city. It was rare to see one. A beast had to be injured, dying even, to risk leaving the forest. Without a steady source of mana, starvation would claim it quickly. The ambient mana here, in human territory, was nowhere near enough to sustain them. And yet, that made them terrifyingly dangerous, driven mad by the gnawing hunger for mana. They were like rabid animals, attacking anything that moved. Leo shuddered, recalling his father’s stories of the forest outskirts. He spoke of beasts with an empty, desperate look in their eyes, so consumed by their need that they ignored gaping wounds, driven only by a primal urge to find a source of mana. Even herbivores became savage, charging anything they sensed. But that was just the outskirts. In the dragon territories… In a place like that, mana would be his greatest enemy. With a familiar as weak as his spore, he would be lucky to survive the first iron circle, home to the lowest-ranked beasts. Fortunately, the ruin his father had found was just at the start of the bronze ring… accessible through the middle of the iron ring. That seemed possible, didn't it? Even for him. Of course, the dream was to reach dragon territory and find a miracle, like gaining a second beast. Realistically, though, he would have to settle for a medicine that could just expel the spore from his body. Something like that might be near the ruin where his father found the medicine that cured his mother. Dragon territory, even the silver ring, was out of the question. If he ventured that deep… The mana would consume him. Leo slammed the book shut, his heart hammering against his ribs. Was he really going to that forest? The thought alone was madness. With his useless spore, mana might not even be the problem. He probably wouldn't survive his first encounter with a real beast. But then he heard it again, the sound of his parents' muffled sobs through the thin wall. What other choice did he have? Determination, not courage, had taken root in Leo's heart. As if in agreement, his stomach growled. The aroma of sweet root stew still lingered in the air, a tempting ghost of the dinner he'd refused. Now, with a purpose solidifying in his mind, hunger returned with a vengeance. He slipped from his room like a shadow, the spore drifting silently in his wake. The floorboards groaned under his weight, but years of sneaking midnight snacks had taught him the safe spots. In the kitchen, the feast his parents had made sat cold and untouched. Leo wrapped thick slices of bread and generous portions of stew in clean cloths, adding a handful of wild berries to the bundle. His father always said berries helped keep your mind clear when you were tired. From the tool cabinet, he took his father’s smallest knife, the one for delicate carving, along with a worn canteen. A coil of rope. His father’s most prized possession: the map. After a moment’s hesitation, he added the flint and steel. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. A sound in the hall froze him. Footsteps. He slipped back into his room, diving into bed just as the door creaked open. "Leo?" It was his mother's soft voice. "Darling..." Leo pulled the covers up to his chin, grateful for the darkness that hid the bag stuffed under his bed. The spore settled on his pillow, its faint, gray glow a perfect match for the somber mood. "I'm so sorry, my love," his mother whispered, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Her hand, calloused from years of work but always gentle, stroked his hair. "If we could have gotten you a better egg..." "It's not your fault, Mom. Or Dad's," Leo said, and for the first time in hours, the emotion in his voice was real. "It… it was just bad luck." "Would you like some stew? It's still warm…" "Tomorrow," Leo promised, hating the lie but knowing it was necessary. "Thank you for making it." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. The familiar scent of spices and her love nearly shattered his resolve. Almost. "I love you, little one." "I love you too, Mom." The door clicked shut. Leo waited, counting his own heartbeats until the footsteps faded and the house fell silent once more. With the practiced efficiency of his afternoon escapes with friends, he tied the rope. His window overlooked the back garden, a drop of barely two meters. The spore watched impassively as he secured the line to his bedpost. "If you're coming with me," he whispered to his companion as he shouldered his pack, "the least you can do is stay out of my way." The night was clear, illuminated by the glow of nearly a dozen moons. From his window, he could see the dark, brooding line of the forest beyond the city's edge. Somewhere in there was his only hope. His hands, slick with sweat, gripped the rope. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry, Dad. And he began his descent.

Chapter 5: The King's Dragon Path